Boardroom or Boudoir
by Riding A Tiger In Outer Space
Summary: Jim/Seb or Moriarty/Moran.  Personal time over the phone in different timezones.  PWP.


Title: Boardroom or Boudoir

Notes: I've been enjoying writing fic inspired by (sexy) songs. So far I've done Teach Me Tiger [(April Stevens) (Fic: Make You My Very Own)] and Cha Cha Cha du Loup [(Serge Gainsbourg)(Fic: Je Ne Te Mangerai Pas)], this one is The Eternal Seduction of Eve, by The Real Tuesday Weld.

Warnings: PWP, Phone sex, masturbation, voice kink, suit kink

Summary/Key Lyrics: "From the Brooklyn Bridge to St. Petersburg; in every boardroom or boudoir across the world...I'll never turn away, forget your voice, avoid your gaze. I'll be there, behind your shoulder...'Til a sunny day or a starlit night, we come together, babe, you and I...I love you to death."

Being an ocean apart doesn't have to be so hard.

* * *

><p>"What time is it with you?"<p>

"Four in the morning. Just got to the room you reserved for me. This is…fancier than usual."

"I like to pamper you."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"Without a doubt."

"So what time is it with you?"

"20:00. Meeting just ended," Jim says casually, but there is a hint of glee behind his level tone.

Seb smiles, "Everything went well on your end?"

"Of course."

"How many?"

"Thirteen. Doesn't seem to be a lucky number."

"Have you brought in the clean up crew yet?"

Jim pauses before he replies, "No, wanted to spend some time taking in the view from the boardroom. New York is lovely at night. Have you been enjoying St. Petersburg?"

"The rooftops are wonderful."

"For you to shoot people from."

"You have the idea."

"My flight is tomorrow morning. I'll see you when I get back to London."

"I'll be waiting."

"Goodnight."

Seb interrupts, "Oh, wow."

"What?"

"This bed is even better than in looks. I can't decide if I'll bother showering now or just collapse and do that in the morning."

Jim is silent. Seb knows he hasn't hung up.

He continues, "Jim, don't make me ask."

Jim clears his throat, "Ask what?"

A massive smile is apparent in Seb's voice, "What are you wearing right now?" he says coyly. Well, fuck.

"Really? You can't wait until tomorrow?"

"No."

"You're insatiable!"

"I can say the same about you. Now. Tell. Me. What. You're. Wearing. Graphic detail."

"My Caraceni suit."

"The grey pinstripe one?"

"That's the ticket."

Jim can hear the bed shift slightly on Seb's end. He's getting comfortable.

"Well, go on."

"Westwood shirt. The white one with the three button collar."

"The one that's so difficult to get off of you."

"I just got the buttons undone pretty easily myself. I can't help that you're clumsy, Sebastian. And here I thought you were all about precision."

"What tie? I want to picture it around your pretty throat."

"Gucci. Check pattern. My shoes and belt are Gucci too, my cuff links are McQueen, and my pocket square is lavender," Jim rushes as he listens to Seb's breathing, "Now you tell me what you're wearing, right now," he mentally kicks himself for sounding so desperate. They've done this before, and Seb has been known to drive the 'What are you wearing' cliché so far into the ground that one of them falls asleep before it even gets anywhere interesting.

"Jeans."

Jim rolls his eyes, "Great detail, Seb. A literary genius, you are. What kind?"

Seb laughs, "I dunno, the denim kind. Dark wash. Is that better?"

"The ones that make your ass look great? The kind of tight ones?"

"Even tighter now."

"So, just the jeans?"

"Yeah."

"Nothing else."

"Nothing at all."

"Is this conversation going anywhere?"

"It is for me."

"Seb."

"Yeah?"

"You suck at phone sex. I'll see you tomorrow," Jim says, but waits a moment for Seb to try to save himself.

Seb doesn't miss a beat, "Bend over."

"What?"

"I bet there's a big table in front of you. With thirteen corpses sitting around it. And a massive window behind you, so you'll have an even bigger audience. So I suggest that you bend yourself over that table and put on a little show for me for your guests."

Jim obliges, interest piqued again, "What now?"

"Are both of your hands free?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now touch yourself for me."

Jim can hear the sound of Seb unzipping his jeans, imagines him lazily palming at his crotch while lounging on a luxurious bed. He knows the sheets are gold and black. He checked when he made Seb's reservation. He shudders at the thought and starts to stroke himself through his trousers.

"Now imagine how many people can see us right now."

"Us?"

"Yeah, I'm right behind you, can't you feel me? I can't keep my hands off of you. Your back, your legs, your arse. My god, I want to fuck you so bad it hurts. The whole of New York can enjoy the show."

"If you want to fuck me so bad then why are my trousers still on?"

"You can pull them down for me, but only just enough for me to get at your arse. I want to fuck you with all of your expensive clothes on. Turn them into a disheveled mess so everyone knows what naughty things you've been up to in the boardroom with your employee."

"How scandalous," Jim murmurs as he pulls his trousers down just enough to uncover his arse and free his straining cock. He takes it in his hand and pumps slowly, listening to the sound of Seb's breathing becoming heavier.

"My tongue first. I love the way you shiver when I start to touch you. I love feeling your muscles tense and relax against my mouth."

Jim spits on his fingers and swirls them lightly over his opening, trying to mimic the motions that Seb's tongue makes when he does it. He gasps and grips his cock tighter. He hears Sebastian's breathing stutter.

Jim moans into the phone, "Yes, that feels so good. Oh. Please don't keep me waiting."

As he expected, he hears Seb quietly groan and begin to pump faster.

"Skip the formalities and fuck me, Seb," Jim pants, already so close to the edge, "Tear me apart."

"Jim, your voice!" Seb practically shouts, "Don't stop making noise for me, baby. I want to hear everything."

"Oh, you're fucking me so hard that it hurts, but you know all of the things that will make it feel so good. When I can barely walk right tomorrow everyone will know what I let my employee do to me," Jim grunts for the lack of lubrication, "He's a fucking savage."

Seb growls, "Now keep your head down. If you try to straighten up, I'm going to grab you by the back of your neck and pin you back down. Smash your face into the table."

"Ah, it's going to bruise. And your fingers digging into my hip. I love looking in the mirror and seeing a map of you all over me."

"Fuck, you're so tight."

Jim only manages to moan in response, one hand around his cock and the other exerting as much pressure as he can on the back of his neck, trying to imagine that it's Seb's hand forcing him to stay bent over the table.

"Shit," Seb breathes.

Jim keens, "I'm so close. Harder."

"Talk me through it."

Jim pants, "I can't."

"Yeah you can. What am I doing? How does it feel? How is our audience enjoying it?"

Jim cranes his neck to look around the room. Thirteen bodies, men and women, a good number of them still in their seats, looking surprised. A few had managed to stand and try to make it to the door, to look for help. None of them made it.

"They shouldn't have tried to screw me over," Jim grits, "Now they get to watch me screw. They're quite appalled. But they're not going anywhere. Seb!"

Seb huffs, "Big finish? Come of me. All over the Caraceni and the McQueen and the Gucci. Come for me, please."

"I swear, if any of this gets on my suit, I'm going to chain you to the stove for a week, you hear me?"

The only sound from the other end is Seb's surprised moan. Jim again pictures him splayed out on the gold and black sheets, his jeans around his thighs, his skin slick with sweat and his eyes screwed shut. He grunts and follows, coming on the table and some of the files that were still waiting to be straightened up. They remain silent for a few moments.

"Tomorrow?" Seb finally asks, sounding sleepy and sated.

"Forget the morning flight. I'll get on the plane once I've called in the clean up crew."

Seb laughs, "Gonna make them clean up our mess?"

"I'll let you think that one over. Get back to London," Jim orders before he hangs up.

After considering for a moment, he pulls out his lavender pocket square with a flourish, cleans up, and neatly folds the cloth before returning it to his pocket. He'll leave it in Seb's luggage next time he travels. See how long it takes him to find it and get off on it.

Jim pulls up his trousers, straightens his suit as best he can, and calls in the clean up crew. No sense in getting his hands dirty.


End file.
